


Our kingdom of paper walls has been set aflame

by SpiltSoup



Category: Barbie - All Media Types, Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus (2005), Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses (2006)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adultery, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/F, Femslash, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Music, Kings & Queens, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:34:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21842263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiltSoup/pseuds/SpiltSoup
Summary: Blair finds ruling over a kingdom to be a living hell. Luckily, somebody is there to comfort her.
Relationships: Blair (Barbie in the 12 Dancing Princesses)/Brietta (Barbie and the Magic of Pegasus)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	1. Fury of the Storm

Blair stands at the window, the early flow of mother dawn casting soft shadows along her room. Her robes shift as she commands her arms to spread the panes, and the hinges make not a sound in their queen’s presence as they swing open. Welcoming the natural light, she presses her rosy red lips together and quietly blows out each candle along her walls, careful not to wake the monster that lies in her bed. 

Outside, sparrows and swallows gather ‘round the frosty trees, scraping their talons along the naked branches. The birds release soft chirps from their pearly beaks, signaling man of a new day’s approach. Blair sighs to herself, her heart aching with envy for God’s feathered messengers. To sore amongst the clouds where the sore wind shan’t spread his bitter hatred, what a life that would be! Her dainty fingers settle onto the gold-trimmed windowsill, cleanly cut nails grazing the fine material as she hums a tune to herself. 

A grunt from behind pulls her back into reality. Emotion conceals itself behind her shadowy blue eyes as she looks over to the bed she shares. From beneath the sheets, a demon in disguise stirs and shifts unto his side, like the devil’s snake coming out of the hearth. 

“Good morning, my love,” Chandler mutters. “Whatever are you doing by the cold? Come back to bed and embrace your king.” 

He appears human to the naked eye. A well built one, at that, with muscles wrapping around his arms and blond hair erupting from the center of his chest. His sea green eyes are said to convert even the purest of women, but when Blair looks into them, she can only see churning, bubbling waters of darkness. 

Tentatively, she walks over to Chandler, not bothering to close the window. He laughs, seeing her robes in the sunlight. 

“You have dressed yourself already?” 

Blair casts her eyes down to him, “A queen must always be prepared for the days task.” 

He smirks, and his eyes trace her up and down before he says, “Only important rulers busy themselves with making an impression, darling.” 

In the days before her crowning, Blair was a force to be reckoned with. Now, her curses die down in her throat as Chandler’s shiny teeth poke through his gums. When she first met him, the thought of an arranged marriage hadn’t seemed too awful. But after living with him for a while, Chandler’s true nature shone through the cracks in his mask. 

The day ahead is miserable, as usual. Mundane labors that don’t forward the kingdom in any way, only serving to punish Blair for being born into the royal lifestyle. The soldiers are insufferable, the ambassadors that come to visit even more so. During the period of midday, Blair asks one of the servants to draw her up a bath. 

As Blair soaks she reminisces of days long gone, back to her youth. The castle she had been raised in seemed so much brighter and full of fauna, the likes of which her current prison does not. Resting her head against the edge of the tub, Blair’s chest rises and falls as her sister’s faces thumb through her mind like the pages of a threadbare book. 

“Your Highness?” 

Blair’s tired eyes move to the doorway, where another maid stands with folded arms behind her back. This one she has seen before; conversing with her servants is one of the ways her heart keeps itself aloft. Though, the fair lady’s name escapes her. 

The maid averts her eyes from Blair’s pale form and says quickly, “I apologize for interrupting your bath, but His Majesty wishes to have a word with you in the study.” 

Water glistens across the tiles as Blair lifts herself up from the bath, draping a towel to conceal her flesh and goes behind the changing screen. Hearing the maid walk out of the room, she is alone again. 

Blair stares at her outfit, grasping its fine cloth and digging her nails into the seams. She knows that she could walk out with nothing but a towel on and none of the servants would notice, but no angel born in Hell could get her to meet her husband in that manner. 

~~~ 

“Do you know why I’ve called you here, sweetheart?” 

All pet names are for naught, and Chandler growls out his last syllable as if a child, trying to get the bitter taste of peas off his lips. 

Blair says nothing. 

Throwing his cape over his shoulder, Chandler begins to pace around the study. “The Bolivians get closer and closer to attacking us each day. And as I recall…” 

Her painted fingernails dig into her own palms. 

“It was your job to take up the ambassadors that came today.” 

Blair speaks, her tone frozen like the harsh icicles draping themselves on the overhangs. 

“Yes, well, perhaps if you were to help out your ‘loving wife’ instead of drinking your wits away, things would run much smoother.” 

The ticking clock on the shelf chips away at the silence, sending Blair’s head into a steady rhythm of pounding. As the extended arm of Father Time reaches two o’ clock, Chandler rushes forwards and grasps Blair’s wrists tightly. 

His beard brushes up against her earlobe and she shudders. “How dare you speak to your king in such a manner. Somebody ought to teach you a lesson.” 

But before he can do anything else, Blair cries out and thrusts her knee into his stomach. As Chandler lets out a strangled groan, she turns to leave and rushes to the study doors, slamming behind her as her heels click frantically down the polished marble. 

That night, Chandler joins her in bed. Despite the prior event he seems unnaturally calm. Blair pretends not to see him and pays him no mind, setting her scroll from Genevieve down and prepares to blow out the candles. 

“Margaret sends her best wishes,” Chandler sneers, and Blair realizes the reason for his change of mood. 

Taking a mistress is only customary for the great kings, and Chandler is no exception. Blair thinks it to be quite hypocritical of her; loathing her husband, and yet her heart twists every time she catches him and the wench on their red satin sheets. 

As she puts the candle out of its misery, Chandler places a meaty hand on her abdomen and Blair wishes she had never been born. 

~~~ 

The queen stirs at dawn, carefully exiting her chambers and walking through the barely lit halls. Empty spaces such as these give her time to think; sharing a crowded home for so long has definitely made these moments more special. 

As Blair rounds the corner, she comes upon another soul. Dusting the portraits, the maid from the day before quietly whistles as she goes about her tasks. 

She clears her throat, and the maiden whirls around with startled blue eyes. 

“Y-your Highness! You are up so early- do you wish me to prepare a meal?” 

Blair exhales through her nose. Sometimes she longs for the presence of a commoner, so that the others in the palace would not cower at her shoes. 

Waving a hand, she replies, “No, no. I just needed…” trailing off, she bites her lip while the events of the previous night come back to haunt her. The servant looks at her expectantly. 

“Could I… talk to you?”


	2. Logic Escapes Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I’ve been gone for quite a while. I’ve changed my username and my writing style has also changed drastically. I’m not sure if I’ll explore the new style in this fic, but just a heads up in case the transition to chapter 3 is a bit jarring.

Brietta is only sixteen when she runs away.

It is not the fault of her family, contrary to what many peasants may assume. The bearded wizard is to blame, he who hunts her and stares as if she is a fresh piece of meat. Not wanting the king and queen to share her burdens, Brietta slips out of a window in the dead of night.

Her journeys from there are a blur; the forest seems to expand for acres and acres until the topsoil collapses in on itself. Meshed faces and scrambled voices are her only fragments that cling to her in the dead of night. It is like how her mother used to tell her: you never know how much you have until it's gone.

And how much she did have! Luxurious mountains, sprawling over the snow and ice. Villagers, forged from their loyalty to her parents. Endless land, and it was all hers!

Now she has wound up the complete opposite, staring royalty down to its unearthly core. Brietta likes to think that she isn’t afraid of the queen; that she simply looks up to her mistress with what had been mutual respect. Still, the nerves tangle themselves under her skin as Queen Blair speaks to her, and her alone.

“Could I… talk to you?”

Unconsciously, Brietta’s hand finds itself resting on her own chest. Her lips part slightly, not so much that her queen can see but just enough to let the air tumble from her lips.

_Me?_

Composing herself, she attempts a natural smile and says, “Of course, my queen.”

Blair looks to her sides, before turning back to Brietta. “The others will be awake soon. We should move to a safer place.”

Brietta follows timidly, like a woolly lamb being guided by the shepherd. Blair leads her to one of the many spare rooms in the castle, and as they move through the doors Brietta halts against the carpet.

“Please,” Blair ushers, waving a hand in the maid’s direction. “Do come in.”

Brietta swallows her pride and crosses what she believes to be the threshold. Despite being just another room, the queen inhabits it, therefore it is untouchable. Blair sits on the bed, but Brietta cannot bring herself to do the same.  


“Now…” the queen pauses, and her eyes move slightly, as if trying to catch a fleeting memory. She looks up, a spark ignited.  


“Brietta.”  


The girl in question is surprised, “You… know my name?” It is an idiotic fragment of a thought, but she cannot help herself.  


“I make knowing every person in this castle a priority.”  


“Why is that, my queen?”  


She stares at nothing. “It gets lonely.”  


Brietta becomes confused. “But, have you not a king to spend your nights with?”  


Blair’s blue eyes tilt downwards. “Chandler isn’t exactly… abundant, in his affection. This morning, for example, when I awoke he had gone.”  


“Where could His Majesty be at such an hour?” Brietta inquires.  


“I imagine that ‘husband’ of mine is visiting the servant’s quarters,”  


“Oh,” Brietta says, putting the pieces together.  


“That is the least of my concerns with the rogue man,” Blair huffs. “His hands are only gentle when they need to be. I always get the rough calluses. And for what? Simply being the one to be betrothed to him?”  


Brietta takes a step back, her ears perked like an obedient dog’s. Queen Blair soon becomes livid, and although the auburn is not her declared target she still is scared out of her wits when the words begin to rise.  


“He is an animal!” she screams. “Chandler only cares about himself. The bastard won’t even so much look in my direction, unless his deviant cravings overwhelm him first. Every night his presence next to mine; his warmth burns hotter than a demon’s spitfire curse! It is as if Satan himself has sent his son to drive me into a torturous existence! And…”  


She is crying now. Her raven hair drapes itself over her neck, as salty tears trail from her eyes to chin.  


“...it seems to be working.”  


Brietta knows of the king’s temper. Those around her are prone to his outbursts, she herself only being a bystander. It has been rationed in everybody’s minds that a queen is subservient to her husband, but not of this caliber. Brietta’s parents maintain a healthy relationship. Despite the social implications, her father treats his wife like an equal. The auburn haired girl wants so desperately to help the queen.  


And yet, as a mere servant, what can she provide?  


Perhaps out of some nurturative impulse, or a desire deeply buried within her bones, Brietta sets herself down on the bed and takes Blair’s hand in her own shaking one.  


“Please, Your Highness,” she says. “Tell me what I can do for you.”  


The other woman says nothing, and Brietta worries that she is stepping out of line. Her fingernails lift, and she is ready to retreat. But then a faint smile crosses Blair’s lips.  


“It is strange,” she says. “Many servants would stay silent, waiting like an obedient dog to be fed my orders.” Her palm rests over Brietta’s knuckles. “But you seem to care. Why?”  


Brietta feels her face becoming hot. The longer she looks at the queen, the more gorgeous she becomes. Is it her smooth porcelain skin that linest an exquisite form? Or perhaps it is that her eyes shine like marble sculpted by the finest hands.  


“Why do I care?” she parrots. It comes off harsh; the words sting her tongue as Blair’s expression changes.  


Silence caves Brietta’s skull under its weight, the room thick with it. The two do not move, save for the pull of Blair’s hand from her reach. Something hides itself away within the ruler’s blue eyes, something that auburn can’t quite make out.  


A memory throws itself into Brietta’s train of thought, derailing it of the current situation. She has heard of Blair before, long ago when the royal families were idle to gossip. Though Brietta hadn’t known her personally in those days, her tomboyish nature was well known.  


Now, the raven girl that stands before her is of a different creed entirely. How elegant she appears, with her ruby red robes draped and her crown positioned perfectly atop her head. How magnificent she looks in the evening sunset that pierces through the stained glass of her window. How rich her red lips appear up close.  


It is only when she catches herself staring that Brietta speaks again.  


“Because, Your Highness, it pains me to see you in turmoil.”  


Blair regains her senses and subtly tilts her head to one side. “How so?”  


Brietta blushes. “It is my job to fulfill your wishes, is it not?” she quickly backtracks.  


“I can tell when one is lying,” Blair hums. “I should know; it was my favorite pastime as a child.”  


She lifts her index finger, as if lecturing the other woman. “No, I sense that there is a motive behind your actions.” Then, seemingly changing the subject, she queries, “You were a princess once, correct?”  


“How did you…?”  


She laughs with the cadence of the unruly princess from her youth. “My dear, you don’t think that my father had connections with those from other countries? Other kingdoms?”  


It is true; she has no real reason to be surprised. The path of trade is a two way street, not mattering whether goods or knowledge are exchanged. Before she can stop herself, she asks, “How much have you heard about me, Your Majesty?”  


“Not much, I am afraid.” Blair says. “Though, I am certain that your little escapade has thrown your mother and father’s land into a state of disarray.”  


Despite her infatuation, Brietta feels a little hurt by this statement. “Wenlock sought after me. I didn’t want anybody else to get hurt.”  


“And yet you hurt your family by leaving?”  


Brietta’s eyes narrow. “I say this with the utmost respect, my queen, but it is none of your business.”  


“This is true,” Blair says. Then she gets up.  


“Where are you going, my queen?” Brietta asks with a hint of worry.  


“I have business to attend to. But this was nice, for the most part. I shall like to talk to you again.”  


And with that, Blair is gone.  


Brietta steadies herself, her knees buckling as she practically falls onto the bed. Her heart is racing, ramming itself against her chest. When she talks to Blair again, she will try her hardest not to be so anxious.

**Author's Note:**

> After reading SkyRose’s wonderful fic, I was motivated to dig up this month-old Blairetta idea!
> 
> Title and chapter headers are inspired by Sarah McLachlan’s Flesh and Blood.


End file.
